


Tact From Me

by AngelOfBooze



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Autistic Sherlock, Multi, tags will update as fic does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfBooze/pseuds/AngelOfBooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots into the lives of Holmes&Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tact From Me

Sherlock watches, transfixed as May drizzles honey into her tea. His pupils are contracted in the early morning light that is just beginning to warm the day, banishing the lazy mist that floats gently over the unused green pastures just outside the large kitchen windows.  
He reaches out his chubby hand, trying to tangle his fingers in the hanging tendrils of the gluey honey. May pulls the honey dipper and her tea away from him ignoring his soft protests. She has not qualms about her youngest playing with honey, but she wants to have at least have had her morning cup of tea before worrying about the expensive antique carpets her husband decorates their house with.

May puts her tea to the side and screws the metal cap tight onto the jar of honey for Sherlock to play with instead. She hands it to him, letting his fingers grasp at it before she angles it in a way that it catches the sunlight filtering in through the windows. The sun pierces through the honey, highlighting the way it moves, lazily and viscous. 

Sherlock coos in delight. He begins adjusting his hands to get a better grip on the jar. He tips the jar to the side, watching as the honey stubbornly obeys the rules of gravity and starts to shift its position.

He flops suddenly onto his stomach and lands heavily on the tiled floor, which only elicits an amused smile from May, unperturbed the antics he has been performing for going on four years.  
Sherlock places the jar in a shaft of sunlight and rolls it around gently, the glass rumbling a deep tune over the ancient tiles of the kitchen. He squeals and kicks his feet about, drumming the rhythmically on the ground.

May pokes at Sherlock with her foot, eliciting a chorus of surprised giggles from him. He turns on and practically wraps his body around her foot, holding on as she flicks her toes at him. With his face pressed firmly against the ground, he traces the freckles dotting her foot the same way he traces the stars in the sky whenever the Holmes family go out for an evening walk on the weekends when Mycroft has returned from boarding school.

May knows from experience that Sherlock could stay staring at her freckles for hours.


End file.
